


Garden of Roses

by Ambyrfire



Category: Aldnoah.Zero (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Intrigue, M/M, Rating will change, Slow Burn, Victorian Attitudes, Warnings Will Change, in a Victorian-ish AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 19:29:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6022096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambyrfire/pseuds/Ambyrfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the Starlight Gardens, the rich and powerful enjoy the colorful shows… and as much more as they are willing to pay for. The law matters not, to those with the money to think themselves above it.</p>
<p>Others plot the downfall of this house of corruption and pleasure– but not all is as simple, or as easy, as it seems.</p>
<p>A rose by any other name would smell as sweet: is that truly so? The world is cold, and flowers wilt swiftly. A rose's beauty, a purchased kiss… <br/>Neither can last long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Garden of Roses

The air was thick and hot, blurred with cigar smoke, like some pale, stagnant forgery of a hazy summer afternoon. In the seat across the booth, Klancain politely dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief. Their view of the stage was good; obscured by little more than the clouds of smoke that hung over the room. Klancain had gotten them an excellent position.

 

Inaho swirled the wine in his glass, watching the rich red catch the chandeliers and gleam darkly as it moved. “So. When will the acts start?”

 

Klancain glanced sideways at the looming velvet curtain. “Soon. It’s getting late already, they’ll want to run a full set.”

 

“Is it necessary to stay past the appearance of the target?”

 

Klancain grimaced. “Please don’t call them targets. It feels cruel. And yes, you have to stay until the end of the set, so that you can accompany your selection to the rooms. The Blue Rose always performs last.”

 

“Unfortunate,” Inaho said, placing his glass down on the whorled wood grain of the table.

 

“Now, surely you will enjoy the rest of the acts, even just a little?” Klancain smiled encouragingly at him.

 

“No,” Inaho replied flatly, “I am not here to watch a show. I am here to achieve the objective. Our objective.”

 

Klancain sighed. “You have a point. But still, what’s the harm in living a little?”

 

“A distraction.”

 

This mission was so much more than a casual trip to watch a few provocative skits.

_Golden hair, brilliant eyes, a delighted smile as she spoke. “Oh Inaho, I simply love the theatre! I’m so happy that someday I’ll be the one to own it!”_

 

The images flickered before him; Asseylum, deceived and lied to by her own family into honestly believing this hall to be a place for… artistry.

 

Inaho’s fist clenched unconsciously against the wood of the table. The sooner this palace of lies and debauchery was torn apart, the better.

 

“Ah!” Klancain said, “it is starting! Our rose is not on for a bit– but I hope you enjoy despite yourself. They really are excellent performers!”

 

Inaho settled back into his seat, not deigning to give that statement a response.

 

Before them, the curtain swept open.

 

Hanging suspended in mid-air, seated elegantly on a trapeze crossbar, was a woman dressed all in white– all of what little she wore, under the copious amounts of feathers and beading. She kicked her legs to set the swing in motion, a gesture that also happened to raise her skirt suggestively high. Inaho’s eyes narrowed.

 

The sooner this could be over with, the better.

 

He watched coldly as music began to play and the woman began to execute a series of sinuous flips and twists, eventually landing with the lowered swing to continue dancing. Coughs from the audience punctuated the rhythm, along with the occasional hooting and scattering of applause.

 

How low, how detestable, that they even pretended this was a performance.

 

He blocked out the rest of the acts but for a few brief impressions– a man and woman in matching green dancing to some fast-paced noise, a skit performed with heavy-handed melodrama, some singing of a shallow and bawdy nature that made his nose wrinkle.

 

Then, the light changed. The air became dim (or dimmer than it had been), except for the stage. All conversations halted. The room seemed to be holding its breath.

 

Inaho sat up. “Is this the woman then?” _At last_.

 

“Yes,” Klancain said, “This is the Blue Rose. Though, well, not exactly”–

 

The music began before he could finish. It was a slow tune, with a bit of stateliness to it. Inaho was mildly surprised.

 

From the concealing dark at the edges of the curtain, there emerged a woman. Her brilliant fiery hair shone in the light as it spilled over her shoulders, striking against the rich blue of her dress. The dress itself was barely adorned, but yet ornate in design– the skirt crafted to resemble layering rose petals, and the bodice carrying a matching design. As she walked, one pale, slender leg flashed in and out of view through a high slit in her skirt. She swept across the stage like a strange, beautiful exotic bird.

 

Once she reached the center of the stage, she stopped, and then turned to face her audience, one delicate gloved hand coming to rest at her hip.

 

Then, as the music rose, she parted her gleaming red lips and began to sing.

 

Her voice was rich and deep, unusual for a woman– but surprisingly pleasant to listen to.

 

_“No,”_ she sang, _“Nothing at all,_

_No, I regret nothing_

_Not the good things they did to me,_

_Nor the bad,_

_It’s all the same to me!_

 

The pride in her tone, in the way she held herself, in the way her hooded eyes skimmed the crowd– it was so different, so remarkably different from the other acts Inaho had seen that night. This was no mere performance. And he could not tear his eyes away.

 

_“No, nothing at all,_

_No, I regret nothing”_

She sang, bringing a hand to her breast,

 

_“It’s paid for, forgotten, wiped away!_

_I don’t give a damn about the past!”_

 

Her voice trembled with passion, as her arm flung wide in an outpouring of emotion.

 

_“With all my memories,_

_I lit up the fire,_

_My troubles, my pleasures”–_ her hand slid up her side from her hip, her other hand coming back to cup her cheek–

 

_“I don’t need them anymore._

_Brushed away are my loves,_

_And their troubles,_

_Brushed away for good,_

_I’ll start again from zero”_

 

Her hooded eyes fluttered, thick dark eyelashes lowering over her gem-brilliant irises.

 

_“No, nothing at all,_

_No, I regret nothing,_

_Because my life, my joys…”_

Her voice sank rich and low against the backdrop of the music in the total, awed silence of the theater.

_“Today, they begin with you.”_

 

The final note carried out into a crescendo, the singer with her arms outstretched and head thrown back as the music climaxed around her in a rush of melodic intensity.

 

For a moment, the room remained hushed. Then, a storm of applause broke over the tables, yells and whistles rising over the cacophony. The Blue Rose took one graceful bow, and made her exit.

 

“So,” Klancain laughed, “I see that one performance tonight has managed to amaze you, at least!”

 

“The level of skill is… impressive.”

 

“That was the last act, though– I will conduct you to the escort point.”

 

“Will… there not be any other clients plying there?”

 

Klancain chuckled. “Of course not. All of The Rose’s appointments are arranged ahead of time– that would not be left up to something so brutish as the shoving of a lusting mob.”

 

“Al- alright then. That is… convenient.”

 

“I reserved several hours for you– before you object that you should pay, all payment is in advance so it is already done, and my means are far more than sufficient to cover this for today at the very least.” They wove through the tables as Klancain spoke, until they reached a door set into the wall. It was of fair size, neither discrete nor obtrusive. The sheer understatement of its nature was enough to imply many things.

 

“Remember, the name they will call you by is ‘Orange.’ Don’t forget, that is the practice here; anonymity,” Klancain whispered in his ear as he steered Inaho through the door into the shadows beyond. “Good luck!”

 

 

 

∆

 

 

 

Slaine pulled off the coppery wig in one smooth yank. As draining as these performances were, it was amusing to watch a sea of prudish knobs become entranced at his feet.

 

“Here, Harklight.” The man needed not a word more to hurry over and help Slaine unlace the back of his dress. Slaine would rather have done it himself– but the laces had to be tied so damn _tight_ to give a proper semblance of a womanly figure that they were impossible to undo without assistance. Either way, Harklight was a good man. He kept them safe from the … _friskier_ clients. If he had to have help, Slaine was happy to have Harklight there.

 

Slaine breathed a sigh of relief as the constriction around his body eased away. “Thank you.”

 

“Gladly.” Harklight bowed as Slaine left the antechamber and entered the preparation room. The blue dress slid off his shoulders and was quickly hung beside its peers– a full rack of costumes of various levels of scantiness. All rose themed, of course. Slaine rolled his eyes. The designer had _no_ sense of originality.

 

He paused in front of the mirror to wipe away the lipstick and paint. Some customers preferred the makeup, but no such specific request had been put in for today. Slaine would rather avoid the mess in that case.

 

Today’s first was a new customer, Slaine recalled idly as he slid into the steaming bathwater. A long appointment too, and set up by the boss’ son himself no less. Slaine was not concerned about failing to please. Nary a single client in all his years in this job had left unsatisfied. He was merely half-curious about seeing a new face here. Most of his clientele were regulars– the price was too high for the casual participant to pay, usually. Perhaps today he would be picking up a new regular, then.

 

It would be interesting, Slaine mused, to meet this “Orange.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funny story– this was ready to post on Valentine's day… but AO3 wouldn't let me post it. The site crashed every time I hit post :'D Here this is now, though! This is a teaser, really– merely a taste of the main story to come.
> 
> This story will probably be less than five chapters. I'm currently picturing 3… but stories have a tendency to grow out of control, so I'm overestimating. And the next chapter will be much, much longer than this one– so don't expect to see it quickly. This was a special Valentine's post! But I promise, the next chapter has already begun drafting. It's coming!
> 
> Also, I blame the Blue Roses chat for enabling me after I began speculating why there wasn't a prostitution au for this fandom yet. Never let me speculate. It gives me ideas.
> 
> Last note, which I forgot earlier– the song Slaine sings is an abbreviated (and translated) version of the French song ["Non Je Ne Regrette Rien"](https://youtu.be/zRCYEkA0_q8) by Edith Piaf.


End file.
